Mean Birds

"Ha. Yeah, multi-talented. Well, tell him I said thank you.”

"I will, and I'll leave out the creepy part.”

"Good. I wouldn't want him mad at me.”

"Probably not.”

"Well, If you get done and are headed home before we close, stop by for coffee and tell me what happened.”

"Ok, I'll do that. And Alice?”

"Yeah?”

"What did the door mouse say?”

"Feed your head. Of course. Weren't you listening?”

"Bye Alice.”

"See ya later Jack.” and she was gone. Hmmm... Trouble. But nice.

"Quark!”

"Caw! Caw!” I looked up and saw half a dozen crows quarreling in the branches above me, and a drop of something warm hit me on the cheek, on the scar the Dead Guy's cane had left there. I batted at it, cursing, thinking one of the damned birds had shit on my face. Remembering a seagull in seventh grade PE class who'd done the same I screamed, “Shit!” and leapt back, scrubbing at my cheek, then looking at my hand. It was streaked crimson. That wasn't shit. It was blood.

I heard a meaty thump and looked up. Right where I'd been standing there was a dirty white blob. At first glance I thought it was a plastic grocery bag knotted around some sort of trash. Then I blinked and it was a bundle of blood spattered white feathers. I looked closer and finally realized it was the body of a good sized white pigeon with gray and black feathers along its wings and breast, and a large bloody red spot where it's head belonged. Seriously, it's head was gone, torn off at the birdy equivalent of a collarbone. No head. No neck. Not even a stump, just a bloody pink nub of spine and a bloody black hole of throat at the top of the body cavity.

I took a step back and said, “Fuck.” quietly and with feeling.

Looking up in the tree I saw the crows, six of them, perched in the high branches staring at me. The biggest one, perched highest, said “Quark!”

"Caw! Caw!” the others replied. Then they all dove and spread their wings, gliding over my head and deeper into the park.

I looked around for awhile, but I couldn't find the pigeon's head anywhere.

Standing there and shaking my head I mumbled, “Now that's kinda creepy.” I paused and lit a cigarette, dragging deep. “And kinda scary.” I headed out of the park and along Colfax towards Broadway, wondering what the hell the crows were up to, and trying to convince myself that I was nobody's pigeon. I stopped at the Jeep on the way and put the Glock in its shoulder holster on under my leather and picked up my computer bag containing the laptop and .45. Better safe than sorry.